


Briefly

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Multi-Age, Other - Freeform, Plot - Bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2006-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles, Silmarillion and Lord of the Rings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Song

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

_Out the Song_

Barely awake, she reaches out towards the sun, brightness beyond the green vault of the forest, and feels her fetters unfurl from her arms and slide to the ground in wreaths of melodies. Her fingers shake and she cries out as she feels herself drifting, no longer held down by fate, no longer bound to the earth nor to the stars. 

Her heart beats hard, confused by possibilities and numerous futures. This is freedom then, coursing through her veins like poisoned wine, heady and heavy with the promise of death ; this, a wonder so keen it makes her ache.

_Into the Song_

At first, he thinks it a dream, that echo of a song, fairer than thought. Then it becomes a low humming, just beneath consciousness, snaking softly around his thoughts and memories. And then it grows ever stronger, making his whole soul tremble in awe, infusing every fibre of his body. 

He walks to its tune, and knows the dance of others ; of Elves and beasts and trees, of the earth and sun and sea. It works itself through his memories, and shows him his life as it was sung ; his every step a note in that greater Song. 


	2. The Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles, Silmarillion and Lord of the Rings.

_Elenwë_

One step. 

Frozen snow crunches beneath her foot, a crisp, white sound she has never heard before, filling her empty mind with dim echoes.

One step.

The sky is black overhead, and stars keep falling, feathery flakes floating gently down. Their cool kiss as they brush her cheeks is the only caress she can recall. 

One step. 

Silence coats her, smothering her thoughts. Her mind is a dark and empty place, but for patterns of falling snow. 

One step. 

There is a loud creaking sound, and she sinks within her own cold darkness as the water rises to claim her. 

_Idril_

When the king stops walking, so do they all. Meagre fires are built, like candles in a storm. Food is handed around, and half-asleep children are coaxed into eating, while their hard-eyed parents measure their scarce provisions. 

Her father tells her stories then. He speaks of a faraway land, warm and golden ; of the bliss that reigned there. He says they used to live there, long ago. 

She finds his tale beautiful, though she cannot believe him. She knows there is naught in the world but wastelands stretching white and cold beneath a dark sky, and they must walk forever. 

_Turgon_

He walks alone with his daughter. Behind him, his father carries a nameless, orphaned child. He used to do such things in the beginning – as a prince, perhaps, should do for his people. But no more. The Ice has made them all alike – lords and peasants, smiths and princesses, all turned into silent, hard creatures with dead eyes. 

He knows he is not an elf anymore. He knows it since Idril stumbled upon the road, and he could not recognise her, and shook angrily that dead weight off his hand. 

Yet he walks on, and swears revenge with bleeding lips. 


	3. The Jewelwright's wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles, Silmarillion and Lord of the Rings.

He speaks on and on with fever-bright words and trembling hands. The Silmarilli shine through his eyes, upon his lips, upon his white cheeks and his high forehead ; their radiance breaks through his hands and coats his nails. She listens in silence and watches his face, as her fey lover speaks of beauty. 

Then she takes his hand in hers, and though they burn, his slender fingers. Her own close around the gold ring at his hand. 

'You once said', she says quietly, 'that in your eyes, no jewel made by you would be more beautiful than this.'


End file.
